


Save Me

by seductivembrace



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Challenge Response, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-07
Updated: 2013-12-06
Packaged: 2018-01-03 21:14:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1073117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seductivembrace/pseuds/seductivembrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during <i>Lie to Me</i>. Written for danaid_luv as part of <a href="http://awmp.livejournal.com/">awmp’s</a> Spuffy <a href="http://awmp.livejournal.com/104030.html">Snarkathon</a>, who asked for "trapped, pre-chipped Spike, con bitey, and three magic stones."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_“He said he killed it,” she mumbled to herself. “That’s the vampire Ford said he killed…”_

~*~*~*~*~

**_Day 1_ **

“Spike!” Buffy bellowed to gain the vampire’s attention over the various screams and growls echoing around the club; she held Drusilla like a shield in front of her, stake poised and ready to drive home.

“Everybody _stop_!”

“Good idea. Now, you let everyone out, or your girlfriend fits in an ashtray.” Buffy tightened her hold on her stake and began to push it into Drusilla’s chest.

“Spike?” Drusilla whimpered, feeling the tip dig into her skin.

“It’s gonna be alright, baby.” Spike glanced around at the minions in various stages of feeding. “Let them go.”

Buffy stood on the landing leading down into the bomb shelter that had been recently converted into a club for vampire groupies. Sobbing and wounded humans streamed past her, and she divided her attention between the vampire she held and the seething Spike standing at the base of the ladder that was the club’s only exit. She watched as Ford stumbled to his feet and made to leave, passing in front of the vampire shooting daggers at her from yellow-tinged eyes.

As Ford began to climb the steps, Spike’s arm snaked out and wrapped around his neck, pulling the boy back against his chest. 

Buffy gripped her stake tighter and glared down at him.

“Let him go,” she demanded.

“Uh uh. He’s my insurance policy,” Spike replied and began to climb the steps towards the exit. “I get to the top, we make a li’l trade.”

Buffy’s eyes narrowed, but she couldn’t call his bluff. Ford _was_ still human – even if he was a human that had set her up to die so that he might _become_ a vampire.

“That’s close enough,” she told Spike once he and Ford reached the landing. “Let him go.”

“You first.”

“I’m the one with the stake to your girlfriend’s chest. _You_ first.”

Spike growled, but did as the Slayer asked, sending the boy stumbling into the pair with a harsh shove to his back.

Buffy started at the unexpected move, the death grip on her stake slackened just a bit, shifting away from the kill zone.

Ford saw his opportunity and fell onto Drusilla, dislodging her from the Slayer’s grip and sending him and her out through the open door. He kicked it shut after hitting the hard concrete, sealing both Buffy and Spike inside. A roar sounded within and the sounds of fighting could be heard, but Ford ignored it – and what was most likely the death of his friend – and jumped to his feet. He lowered his hand to help Drusilla stand up.

“You’ll give me my reward now? I’ve given Spike the Slayer. I held up my part of the bargain. You’ll make me one of you? An Immortal?”

Drusilla smiled, her childlike features no longer concealing her malicious intent, and Ford felt the first twinges of fear settle in the pit of his stomach. Her features shifted and she moved closer, and he struggled to control his rising panic. He wanted this, he reminded himself.

 _Don’t run,_ he chanted silently.

“You smell delicious,” Drusilla murmured, running a pale finger down his cheek. “Your fear… it’s… _intoxicating_ …” She gripped the boy by the back of his neck and brought him closer, rubbing against him wantonly, her tinkling laughter erupting at feeling an answering bulge form in his pants in response to her gyrations. Her nose nuzzled his throat, fangs scraped along his flesh, nicking the surface. The smell of warm blood hit the air, tantalizing her senses, and she struck.

“Drusilla!”

Drusilla tore her mouth away from her victim’s neck and turned to glare at the entrance to the alley. She hissed upon spying her sire.

“Let the boy go!” Angel demanded.

She snarled and bared her fangs, her grip on the boy tightening even further.

“ _Drusilla_ …” The pitch was lower this time, hints of sire’s voice evident in his tone. She finally dropped the boy and Angel let her leave, his only desire to determine Buffy’s whereabouts. And if the truth were known, he really doubted he’d be able to make himself stop her.

He bent down and grabbed Ford by the front of his shirt and hauled him roughly to his feet.

“Where’s Buffy?”

Ford was weak from blood loss but managed to point towards the Sunset Club, gasping out, “inside.”

Angel snarled menacingly, bringing the boy’s face mere inches from his own. “I should kill you myself. If Buffy’s hurt, you better pray I don’t find you.” He dropped Ford then, his nose wrinkling in distaste at the sudden smell of urine permeating from the boy, and he hadn’t even flashed his demon at the kid. His sensitive ears picked up the sound of Buffy crying out, and he relegated the boy to the back burner of his mind and sprinted towards the door of the club. His hand rattled on the latch but nothing happened. Employing more of his strength, he tried again. Still nothing happened.

On the third try, the knob snapped off in his hands.

He couldn’t get the door open.

~*~*~*~*~

Buffy heard the sound of the door closing like a death knoll. She struggled to control her rising hysteria at being locked inside the converted bomb shelter with Spike, the self-professed Slayer of Slayers.

The backhand to her face took her by surprise and she lost her stake, and almost lost her footing on the steel landing. As it was, she just barely managed to grab onto one of the rails when the momentum of Spike’s punch sent her reeling backwards. Dangling twenty feet above ground, her gaze darted frantically between the smirking vampire as he moved closer and the ground below, desperately trying to locate her weapon.

She spied a table beneath her and let go of the railing; it broke her fall but didn’t hold up under her weight, shattering into a tiny pieces.

 _‘Stake!’_ she thought smugly, tossing the tablecloth aside.

Only Spike was there before she could grab one of the broken pieces of wood. His booted foot connecting with her temple sent her reeling towards something hard. Her breath left her in a whoosh, and she felt, rather than saw, Spike pressed up against her back.

“Come on, Slayer. I get more exercise with my minions,” Spike baited. He pressed his groin into her backside, letting her feel how much he was getting off on the fight – how hard it was making him. Nothing like teasing the virginal slayer a bit. Throw her off her game even more.

“Where’s that sass you had at the school the other night?” His hand skimmed her stomach and cupped her breast, giving it a firm squeeze.

Buffy gasped in shock. Her head jerked back and caught him in the nose. Then she whirled around, delivering a roundhouse kick that rocked him back several feet.

“Pervert!” she screamed.

Spike caught himself against one of the club’s speakers to keep from going down. He swiped half-heartedly at the blood that had spurted from his nose, grinning sadistically at the Slayer’s affronted look.

“Well. Yeah, pet. Vampire here.” He licked the blood off his hand as if to prove his point.

“Ewww! That’s disgusting.”

His quirked brow said it all. _Vampire_.

The two adversaries stood staring at each other. Neither backing down. One breathing heavily, warily. The other debating on how much fun to have with the Slayer before sinking his fangs into her neck.

Spike sprung forward suddenly, sending the Slayer staggering back with a series of punches and kicks that she was too slow to block.

“It’s no fun if you don’t hit me back, Slayer,” he taunted after delivering a particularly stunning blow to her head. He followed it up with a left hook that sent her crashing into one of the support beams. His blue eyes twinkled merrily. “Oh… Who ‘m I kiddin’? It’s fun regardless.”

He moved in and barely flinched at the kick he received to his stomach. The Slayer was tiring. Time to swoop in for the kill.

Her foot shot out again to hold him off and Spike easily caught it; he yanked her towards him and she crashed into his chest. The feel of the Slayer’s lush curves pressed up against his body momentarily hindered his killing instinct. She felt good – her tits digging into his chest, her hot center cradling his erection.

It surprised him just _how_ good she felt. He’d forgotten the heat a live body could generate…

Buffy took advantage of Spike’s inattention and brought up her knee between his legs.

Spike’s reaction was instantaneous. “Bitch!” he growled and backhanded her to the floor.

Buffy scrambled to get away, her head spinning – Spike had hit her so hard, she just _knew_ she had a concussion. Her eyes darted about the room looking for a weapon, for anything really. The sound of Spike looming above her roared in her ears. She felt something pressing into her hip and she recalled the stones Willow had given her. Remembered thinking her friend had been crazy for buying something that probably amounted to nothing more that a couple of prettily colored rocks, but she’d taken them anyway, especially when Willow had gone all mopey girl on her. Slipping them into her pocket, she’d just barely managed to suppress an eye roll at her friend’s animated jabberings about the three stones – and the words that supposedly “activated” them.

She was hauled to her feet and Buffy scrambled to reach the stones as she was slammed up against the wall and felt Spike press against her. Her head was yanked to the side and she nearly dropped them when his fangs sliced into her neck.

“Serva me!” she screamed.

The stones roared to life, emitting a blinding white light that nearly burned her palm; her hand contracted around them in a knee-jerk response to the sudden pain. The magic spread outwards, quickly enveloping her entire body.

She was vaguely aware of Spike’s fangs leaving her throat. Of the white glow that quickly enveloped him as it continued to spread outwards until it had covered the entire club.

Then the stones cooled and returned to their natural color. Her hand opened, and they fell to the floor.

Buffy swayed, both from the blood that Spike had taken and the magic that had ripped through her body. She moaned, forgetting completely the vampire that had been making a meal out of her neck, suddenly overcome by a wave of nausea.

Covering her mouth, she raced towards the bathroom, barely reaching the toilet in time. Afterwards, she rinsed her mouth out and washed her face, then stumbled from the bathroom.

Right into Spike’s arms.

“What the bloody hell did you do to me, you bitch?” he demanded, gripping her upper arms.

Buffy could see the evil intent in his eyes, that he was trying to squeeze her harder – but it didn’t show in his grip. She shrugged loose of his hold and was mildly surprised at how easy it was to escape his grasp, stumbling over towards the lone couch the club possessed, where she fell onto the cushions without any regard for the evil vampire stomping after her.

Spike looked down at the Slayer sprawled out on the couch.

“I don’t know if I should be offended or grateful for you laying yourself out so nicely for me, love.”

“I’m not your ‘love,’” Buffy managed to get out, one hand flung over her eyes, silently begging to whomever for her head to stop spinning. “Go away. I don’t feel good.”

Spike’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline.

“Go _away_? Don’t _feel_ good?” he sputtered indignantly. He growled; demon features burst over his face in outrage. How _dare_ she make light of the threat he posed!

Spike was on her in an instant – hard angles pressed against soft flesh, ignoring how her body seemed to fit his, he was in such a murderous rage. He couldn’t believe she wasn’t fighting him at all. When he lowered his head to finish what he started, he found out why.

He couldn’t bite her. He could get within an inch of her neck, and no further.

_Fuck!_

He sat up, his knees on either side of her hips and glared down at her. Watched how her eyes remained closed and her breathing evened out. The chit was going to sleep on him!

 _Him_!

William the Bloody.

He balled up his fist and swung. By god, she wasn’t going to dismiss him so easily.

His punch never connected – again stopping inches before its intended target.

Disgusted with himself, with her, with the entire situation, he climbed off the couch, cursing a blue streak. His booted feet echoed in the room as he stomped up the steps. Since he couldn’t seem to kill the Slayer, he figured he may as well leave and go join Drusilla on the hunt.

He tried to pry the steel door open, but it was like his hand encountered a barrier.

Pissed, he went to punch the wall, to let loose some of his frustration, but again his hand bounced back harmlessly before it could connect. He threw his head back and bellowed his displeasure, his hands fisted at his side. When that did nothing to cool his ire, he stomped back down the steps and stormed over to the bar situated in front of the club’s kitchen area. He needed a drink. Several, in fact.

His hand rummaged under the counter and closed around a bottle. Reading the label, Spike smiled. He’d always been fond of Jack. The top came off readily enough, and he took a healthy swig of the amber liquid, delighting in the burn that warmed his throat. His thoughts strayed to the human that had concocted the plan for getting him the Slayer, the annoying twit that had started this madness, and he vowed that once he got out, he was going to take his time torturing the boy.

Hell, he should have killed the git to begin with, no matter what Drusilla had said.

It was _his_ fault Spike was in this mess.

Trapped with the damn Slayer and unable to kill her.

~*~*~*~*~

Buffy woke, clutching her head.

“Ohhh…” she moaned softly, and even the sound of the slight noise hurt her brain.

She sat up on the couch and immediately wished she hadn’t; jackhammers to the head were not a pleasant sensation to wake to.

“Oh, quit yer bellyachin’.”

_‘Ok, that sounded like Spike’s voice…’_

“Spike?” she called out, unwilling to open her eyes and locate the source of the sound. She just knew if she were to open her eyes, the throbbing in her head would increase tenfold. “Oh god. I think I’m gonna be sick again.”

“Well, carry your arse to the li’l girl’s room. Don’t fancy smellin’ your spew while I’m locked down here.”

Buffy ignored his caustic words for the most part, focusing her attention – what little she could afford with her migraine – on the last bit of his retort.

And replied with an intellectual, “Huh?”

Her eyes opened, and she winced at the bright light, though in truth the club _was_ rather dark. She searched the shadows for Spike and found him sitting at the bar, a bottle set in front of him.

“We’re trapped.”

“Trapped?”

“Bloody hell, Slayer, you deaf? That’s what I said. _Trapped_.”

“Well, why the hell didn’t you break the door down?”

She stood up slowly and swayed for a moment before forcing her feet to move. Clutching various chairs and tables along the way, Buffy carefully crossed the room to the vampire’s side. She didn’t think to question why she would willingly put herself in such close proximity to the deadly vampire. Though, some small part of her hoped that by doing so he’d be merciful and kill her quickly – to spare her from the painful throbbing in her head.

Spike looked at the Slayer through one bleary eye as she plopped down on the stool next to him. _Right_ next to him. 

Not several feet away because she respected the threat he posed to her continued good health, but in the chair beside him, announcing to one and all – not that there really _was_ an all – that she was cognizant of his defanged status and was throwing it back in his face.

He scowled.

May as well cut off his balls while he was at it. Offer them up on a silver platter for her amusement. She looked up at him expectantly, and his mind replayed their brief conversation. Then he remembered.

“Bloody well tried to get out, you bint. I _can’t_.”

“Well, try harder.”

“It’s not a question of strength, Slayer,” he growled. “You think you can do better, be my guest.” He made a magnanimous gesture with his hand towards the exit. He took another swig of his drink while she stewed for a minute. Then she stood up and Spike watched her move towards the stairs. The sound of her heels echoed in the empty club as she marched up the steel steps. He smirked and took another long pull from the bottle, settling in to watch the show. Like she was going to have any better luck at it than he.

Ten minutes later, the Slayer was back on the stool next to Spike.

“If you couldn’t get out, why haven’t you tried to kill me yet?”

Spike threw a punch before she could react, but the second before his fist would have connected, his forward momentum stopped. It didn’t prevent the Slayer from going arse over tit off the stool, however – much to his amusement – and he burst out laughing.

“Oh, Slayer… that was almost worth the price of admission.”

“Fuck you, Spike,” she growled up at him from where she lay sprawled on the floor. “Ow. My head.” She moaned in pain, both from her outburst and the tumble she’d taken.

“Oi! Slayer! You kiss your mum with that mouth?”

“Where the hell’s my stake?” Buffy grumbled. “You may not be able to hit me, but I damn well should be able to stake you.”

“Now, Slayer. No need to be hasty.”

“This from the vampire who laughed because I fell on my head. A head, let me remind you, that was _already_ pounding.”

Spike watched the Slayer’s hand close around a piece of wood lying on the floor. He scrambled to his feet and put the bar between them.

“Slayer,” he warned.

“What, _Spikey_? What are you gonna do?” Buffy taunted as she came around the bar after him. “Throw punches that just zip on by?”

“Bitch.” Spike made sure he kept enough distance between himself and the Slayer.

“That _does_ it!” she hissed and took off after him. 

If she was going to be trapped in this place with no way of getting out, the last thing she was going to put up with was Spike’s mouth.

~*~*~*~*~

“You suck.”

They were sitting side by side on the couch, close but not touching.

“Well, yeah… vampire.”

“You know what I mean.”

“T'weren’t one of _my_ spells that got us into this mess, Slayer,” he griped.

“Yeah, well, those stones suck too. I mean, it was supposed to be a protection spell for _me._ It shouldn’t be protecting you too,” she complained. “And why the _heck_ can’t we get out of here?”

“Dunno.”

“Fat lot of help you are,” she muttered.

“You _do_ realize who you’re talking’ to, right? Vampire? Evil? Ringin’ any bells? ‘m not _here_ to help you. Was here to kill you.”

“Shut up.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m sure someone will be along soon and open the door for us.” Spike blinked in surprise at his comment. Why the bloody hell was he trying to reassure her?

“Oh!! That’s right!” She turned and gave Spike a brilliant smile, forgetting for a moment that he was her mortal enemy and placing her hand on his sleeve. “Giles’ll come. He knows I’m here.”

“See? Problem solved.”

Spike prided himself on the fact that his voice hadn’t wavered. The smile she’d gifted him with had damn near curled his toes. He didn’t even want to think about the hand resting lightly on his upper arm. A hand that threatened to sear his flesh with its heat and kick-start his unbeating heart.

Disgusted with himself for thinking about the Slayer in any terms other than the next notch on his slayer-killing belt, he dislodged her hand from his duster and got up from the couch, trying to find something to do to help pass the time. And take his mind off the chit.

Buffy didn’t notice the vampire’s restlessness as he prowled around the club. She was too pleased with herself. Soon, the nightmare of being locked up – _alone_ – with Spike would be but a distant memory. She tucked her feet up under her on the couch and settled in to wait.

Two hours later, she was ready to climb the walls.

Spike had found the remote control to the television mounted on the wall and had returned to his spot next to her on the couch. He’d spent the entire time flipping through the channels.

Rapidly.

All five of them.

It was enough to bring about the return of her waning migraine.

She knew he was doing it on purpose, just to piss her off. But she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. Especially once she’d glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and seen the hint of a smug look on his face.

Yeah, he was doing it on purpose.

“He should have _been_ here by now,” she complained. “I mean… what good is having a watcher if he doesn’t… you know… _watch_? What time is it anyway?”

Spike rolled his eyes and barely refrained from heaving an aggrieved sigh. Better for her not to realize that her incessant bitching was getting on his nerves – she’d most likely keep at it if she did.

He was rather peeved that she’d not picked a fight with him about the telly yet, though. A nice argument was just the distraction he needed to get his mind off being cooped up with the Slayer and unable to do any physical damage.

“Same time it was when you asked me five minutes ago.” he told her, eyes still glued to the TV while his thumb worked overtime. “…just add the five minutes.”

“God! You sound _just_ like my mother.”

Spike’s thumb froze over the channel button, and he turned to stare aghast at the Slayer.

“Take that back right now!”

“No… Because you do. Only a _parent_ would make a remark like that.”

“ _Well_ … only a _child_ would ask the same bloody question every five minutes just because she’s bored.”

“I’m not a child,” she huffed.

“Sure sound like one to me,” he retorted.

Buffy suppressed the urge to stick out her tongue at Spike.

Frustrated with him, with her current situation – and she was _so_ blaming Willow once she got free – Buffy sighed heavily and leaned her head against the back of the couch. She closed her eyes, determined to ignore Spike while she waited for Giles and the others to arrive.

She fell asleep waiting.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Day 2_ **

Though her eyes were still closed, Buffy could tell it was dark outside. Too early to get up just yet. She made to wiggle down in bed and snuggle beneath her downy comforter while she waited for her alarm to go off. An arm about her waist kept her from moving, however. An arm that was underneath her shirt, and had a hand attached to it that was cupping her breast.

And not just cupping, but squeezing.

Jesus! Could her nipples _get_ any harder?

She had her answer a second later when one of them was lightly pinched between two fingers.

_Holy crap!_

Her body arched into the hand before common sense prevailed. Before her mind decided to function properly and point out certain things. Like the hard body pressed up against her back, or the cool lips that began nuzzling her neck. Or even the hand that was now slowly working its way from her breast, down her abdomen and playing with the top of her pants.

A pop of a button.

The slide of a zipper.

Fingers.

_Sweet Jesus!_

A teasing glide along her slit.

One finger probing her opening, then delving deep.

Making her moan.

“Ooohhh…” A breathy exhalation between slightly parted lips. “Ohhhh… Oh! _Oh_! Oh my _god_!” Frantic cries now that her brain had bitch slapped her body into finally realizing where she was, and who was practically draped over her, his hand buried in her crotch.

Her eyes flew open and she squirmed out of Spike’s reach. Dislodging his fingers from her rather moist nether region – her _untried_ nether region, she hastened to remind herself as she hit the floor with a loud thud and backpedaled fast and furious to put some distance between them. Lots and _lots_ of distance.

Much to the amusement of the vampire still lounging on the couch like he didn’t have a care in the world.

“What the hell was _that_!?” Buffy screamed once she felt that she was far enough away.

“What was what?”

She pointed. At him. At the couch.

“You… with the hands… and… and the…” Her voice trailed off, her cheeks heating in embarrassment – she’d just gotten a good look at the bulge in his pants. The rather _large_ bulge. _Oh boy!_ It took her a minute before she could tear her gaze away from it and back up to his face.

“Just what the _hell_ were you doing? Sleeping on the couch with me?” she yelled at him, her voice louder than normal having seen the amusement at her expense twinkling in his eyes.

“I was tired, and it was the only couch. Bloody well wasn’t going to sleep on the damn floor,” he grumbled. “Besides, _you_ didn’t seem to mind so much. In fact, you were rather clingy, as I seem to recall. Curled up like a kitten right next to me, you did.”

Buffy’s jaw dropped and she sputtered in virginal indignation. “I… I did _not_! And… and even if I did… I was _asleep_. I’m not responsible for what I do when I’m unconscious. You took advantage of me.”

More finger pointing. Finger pointing was good. It meant her brain was in control – that she was displaying the anger she was supposed to be. And not the sudden attraction her traitorous body seemed to have for the peroxide pest. _Stupid body! Evil, bloodsucking fiend_ , she reminded it.

“Oh, so that wasn’t you wiggling _your_ arse into _my_ groin just then? Disturbin’ my sleep and makin’ my dick stand up and take notice?”

“I thought I was in my own bed,” she muttered. Damn it! Now she was blushing so hard her ears were probably red. “I was trying to get comfortable.” _‘Don’t look at him, Buffy.’_

“Yeah, okay.” His tone implied anything but.

“I was!” she protested. She looked. He was smirking. _Damn_! So much for keeping that to herself. “I was dreaming—”

“About me?” he cut in, already knowing the answer. “Slayer, I’m touched.” He laid a hand over his unbeating heart.

Cue pissed Slayer.

“Ewww. No!” Buffy made a face. “Just- just dreaming in general. Like I’d ever! For your information, _not_ that I have to explain myself to you, I was waiting for my alarm clock to go off so I could get up for school.”

Spike quirked a brow.

“Well I _was_!”

He opened his mouth to respond to her comment, but she cut him off.

“I forgot, alright? I forgot I was stuck in this hellhole with my mortal enemy. I thought I was in my own bed. Stress on the _‘my own’_. As in alone. And definitely not with some pervert vampire.”

“Sure, pet. Whatever you say.”

“It’s _true!_ And I’m not your ‘ _pet’_ so quit calling me that!” She glared at him. “And stop doing that too!”

“What?”

His quirked brow rose even higher.

“That! That eyebrow thing! It’s annoying.” She stood up. “You know what? Just forget it. I’m going to the bathroom.  Don’t even _think_ about following me or so help me, I’ll find some way to stake you. Just see if I don’t!”

Spike watched the Slayer flounce off and couldn’t help but grin. She was cute when she was riled up.

~*~*~*~*~

Buffy stayed in the bathroom for a good hour.

For the first fifteen minutes, she did nothing but listen at the door to see if he’d gotten up off the couch and followed her. When she felt confident that he hadn’t, she made quick use of the toilet. Afterwards, she tried to bar the door so she could attempt a bath of sorts.

Clean, as well as could be expected, she emerged to find Spike passed out on the couch. She turned her nose up at him, not willing to see his smug look. Her body overrode her brain’s impulses, however, and she snuck a quick peek.

Damn, he looked so cute curled up on the couch, one arm wrapped around one of the cushions while he slept.

In the kitchen, she rummaged in the refrigerator looking for something to eat. Surprisingly enough, the refrigerator was stocked with an assortment of finger foods. Enough to last her a couple of weeks, maybe more, if she were frugal. There was even blood being kept cool in several plastic containers; though, seeing it nestled in among the “people food” got her gag reflex working. Plate of fruit in hand, she returned to the bar and began to eat her impromptu breakfast.

_‘Had the wannabes actually drank the stuff?’_ she wondered, popping a grape in her mouth and chewing thoughtfully. Ick factor aside, though, having the blood supply was a plus.

The one book Giles had been adamant about her reading had been a character study of vampires that had nearly gone insane after being denied blood for an extended period of time, their bloodlust consuming them. Her watcher had tried to point out their behavior, differentiating it between a vampire’s normal desire to feed. Something about getting the hell out of Dodge, if she were to ever come across one that exhibited the signs of the former, no matter _how_ heavily armed she happened to be at the time.

Thoughts of her watcher’s warning soon turned to thoughts of her current predicament. And the fact that she was no closer to getting free than she’d been last night. Giles should have been there by now. Something was keeping him from her. It was probably the same thing that was keeping her locked inside with Spike – that damn spell.

If – _when_ – she got out of there, she was going to have a serious discussion with her best friend about her newfound abilities, or lack thereof. And spells that were supposed to help her but didn’t. God forbid if Willow’s powers were to ever get out of hand. Instead of being locked up with Spike, things could have been a whole lot worse – like thinking herself in love with the vamp, and, god forbid, wanting to marry him.

She suppressed a shudder that thought entailed and finished off her fruit.

~*~*~*~*~

“This swill is disgusting!” Spike complained after draining the first container of animal blood. He leered at the Slayer, who was picking at a few cubes of cheese on her plate. “Don’t suppose you’d offer me a chaser?”

He wiggled his eyebrows, but the move was lost on her. She hadn’t even bothered to look at him.

“In your dreams.”

“Dunno, pet. You might enjoy it.” He climbed off his stool and moved closer. “A vamp bite could be quite… _stimulating_.” Spike sniffed the Slayer’s hair. Jasmine, he guessed, though it was eclipsed by the dispenser soap she’d made use of in the ladies’ room earlier.

“Keep your fangs to yourself, Spike. It’s not like you can bite me anyway. Spell, remember?”

“Was awfully close earlier, Slayer. Spell wasn’t doing a damn thing to stop me then.”

Buffy squeezed her eyes shut tight and forced herself not to react to his nearness. Or his words. Too bad her body wasn’t listening. _‘Ignore him. Ignore him. Ignore—’_

“Ack!” She jumped to her feet and scrambled away from Spike, knowing that if she were to turn around, she’d see _that_ look back on his face. He’d barely grazed his lips along her neck and she’d reacted as if scalded.

“Stay away from me!” she screamed.

To be on the safe side, she locked herself in the bathroom. Or tried to anyway.

~*~*~*~*~

**_Day 3_ **

When she awoke, Buffy knew right away that she was back on the couch, and that Spike was curled up behind her. His hands were wrapped around her, holding her in place – though more platonically this time. One leg was draped over hers.

In some corner of her mind, a teeny, tiny, need-a-microscope-to-even-begin-to-see-it corner, Buffy admitted that lying there, snuggled up to Spike like she was, felt pretty damn good. And that they fit together rather well.

_Too_ well.

~*~*~*~*~

**_Day 4_ **

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me, Slayer. I know something’s wrong. Now, what is it?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“So, you’re just going to sit there and brood?”

“What do you care?”

“Don’t really. But ‘m bored. Laughin’ at your problems will take away the tedium of bein’ locked up.”

“Oh, like _that’s_ gonna make me tell you now.”

“’m kiddin’, Slayer.”

“Yeah, whatever. Like I’d believe what you say.”

They sat there for the longest time, neither saying a word. Not even the television was playing.

“My mom’s probably wondering where I am. I wonder if Giles–”

“Your mum doesn’t know who you are?”

“It’s not like I can actually say, ‘Oh, by the way, mom, I’m the Slayer.’”

“Sure you can. You just say ‘I’m the Chosen bird.’”

“I guess I should clarify that by adding, ‘and not getting locked up in some mental institution.’”

“Your mum had you _committed_?” he asked, incredulous.

“Yeah. Right after I burned down the school gymnasium.”

Spike glanced over at the Slayer.

“There were vampires inside.” She shrugged. “It was easier that way.”

“Committed?”

“What can I say? She doesn’t believe in the things that go bump in the night.”

“I can help you with that.”

Buffy frown at him.

Spike raised his hands.

“I wasn’t going to bite her, Slayer. Hell, the woman saw me in the high school that night. Is she _that_ daft?”

“No. But, if she actually believed what she saw then she’d be all guilty for having me locked up in the loony bin. It’s better this way. Only…”

“Only what?”

“She probably thinks I ran away or something. I doubt Giles would tell her the truth. Can’t have the secret identity of the Slayer come out, you know. Though, that didn’t seem to stop Ford.” She grumbled the last as an afterthought.

“Don’t mention that little pissant. Me and him are gonna have words once I get out of here.”

“ _If_ he’s still alive,” Buffy added.

Spike frowned.

“He wanted to become a vampire, remember?”

“I forgot about that. Well, if he’s a vamp. He’s dust. Don’t fancy puttin’ up with the likes of him for all eternity.”

“Me either. Ok, if he’s a vamp, I’ll let you have him.”

“Gee. Thanks, Slayer,” he drolled.

“Don’t mention it,” she replied cheekily.

~*~*~*~*~

**_Day 5_ **

“How can you watch that? That’s so fake!”

“You don’t think that Jeff is the father of Mary’s baby? And Sue’s? And possibly even Lisa’s?” Spike inquired innocently. He knew that, more than seeming righteous indignation, was the quickest way to get her back up.

Buffy pointed at the screen.

“Look at him! He’s _so_ an actor. A really bad one, but still. I mean, come on! This stuff is staged. Any second now, they’re going to start throwing insults at one another. Then the other girl is going to step in. Then the girls will be fighting each other.” She rolled her eyes. “Please! Who in their right mind would actually come on some damn TV show and air their dirty laundry like that? Oh, and look. The crowd’s trying to get them to fight now.”

“It’s funny.”

“There’s _got_ to be something else on,” she grumbled. “Now I know why I go to school during the day. To save me from having to watch this crap.”

~*~*~*~*~

**_Day 6_ **

“No, I’m not going to play strip poker with you! We can play Go Fish.”

“ _Go Fish_? What are you five, Slayer?”

“There’s nothing wrong with Go Fish,” she protested.

“Yeah, if you’re in kindergarten.”

“Take it or leave it.”

“We don’t have to play for clothes. We can play for something else. Please, anything beside bloody Go Fish.”

“Fine. What will we play for?”

“I dunno.”

“TV rights!” Buffy said suddenly.

Spike was eyeing the Slayer’s neck, knowing what he’d like to play for.

“Yeah, whatever.”

“And no cheating, either. I’m watching you.”

Spike just snorted.

Buffy gave up when Spike had possession of the TV remote for the next week.

~*~*~*~*~

**_Day 7_ **

Spike swallowed the last of the animal’s blood and suppressed a shudder of revulsion at the vile taste. He dropped the container in the sink and walked out of the kitchen, his fingers closing around the first bottle of alcohol he encountered before making his way towards the couch. And the sleeping Slayer.

It was still early yet for him to sleep – barely three in the morning. But it had become a habit of his in the recent days to curl up behind the girl, bask in her warmth as he whiled away the time until dawn watching late night television. The steady beat of her heart often soothed his frustration at them still not managing to get free – though both still tried every day.

He took a quick drink of the whiskey he held, sighing in pleasure at the familiar burn. After a few more sips, Spike put the top back on the bottle and set it down on the floor. He shucked his shoes and socks, along with his shirt, and garbed in only his jeans, he climbed on the couch and settled in behind the Slayer. A smile came unbidden when she sighed happily as his arms slipped around her and drew her back against his chest.

Spike didn’t bother to shake his head at the picture they made curled together. Hell, he’d given up thinking – period – when it came to the Slayer. Their forced confinement had given him a chance to get to know the girl. He’d come to respect her. _Like_ her even. And the way she felt in his arms.

It was wrong on so many levels, the way he was coming to regard the girl. Not the least of which was that they were mortal enemies.

Slayer and Vampire, and never the twain shall meet.

But, they had.

Now here he was, holding the chit like she was something dear. Something _special_.

He was royally buggered.


	3. Chapter 3

**_Day 8_  **

Buffy noticed Spike’s withdrawn behavior and realized suddenly that she’d not seen any more blood containers in the refrigerator when she’d gotten something to eat earlier. In fact, now that she thought about it, she’d not recalled seeing anything that morning either. Which meant that the last time he’d fed had been almost twenty-four hours ago.

“Spike?” she called out.

“Not now, Slayer.”

“Spike, I think you should—”

“Not _NOW_ , Slayer.”

When he lifted his head and glared at her, Buffy gasped at seeing his vamped features. 

After their first battle, right after being locked inside the club, he’d suppressed the demon. That he appeared to be losing control of his human mask was a huge indicator that his bloodlust was starting to take hold.

Buffy moved closer, ignoring his growls. He didn’t back away from her, which she considered a good sign. She knelt down beside him and put her wrist in front of his face.

“Here…”

Spike stared at the Slayer through amber colored eyes. His fangs itched to take what she was freely offering. But in the state he was in, he’d probably drain her dry before she could kick him off – not that the protection spell would have let him anyway.

To be tempted with a taste of her blood, though unintentionally, made him lash out. He growled again and pushed her away from his side. His tone caustic as he yelled. “Get away from me, Slayer. It’s bad enough ’m hungry. You don’t have to tease a bloke with what he can’t have.” He stood up and retreated to the shadows. Far away from her, and the sound of her elevated pulse ringing in his ears.

Away from temptation.

Buffy stared at Spike’s retreating back. She’d forgotten about the protection spell – their whole reason for being locked inside the club in the first place. She had to do something. Who knew how much longer they were going to be trapped inside. Without Spike being able to feed, it was just a matter of time before he lost control completely. And she rather doubted that the protection spell would be enough to keep him away from her indefinitely.

Determined, she stood up and strode purposely into the kitchen, grabbed a knife out of one of the drawers and walked back to Spike, who was now crouched in another corner. Her heart was beating wildly in her chest; fear, nervousness, and some other unnamed emotion jumbling around inside her as she once more knelt before the vampire.

She drew the blade across her wrist before she could talk herself out of it. He needed to feed, if only a few mouthfuls. And if he couldn’t bite her, lapping at her blood as it gushed from her vein was the next best thing. She just prayed it worked.

“Spike,” she called out – unnecessarily.

The second the scent of her blood hit the air, Spike had zeroed in on the source. It had been a while since he’d smelt the delicious tang that was Slayer blood, but he hadn’t forgotten. He leaned towards the Slayer’s bloody wrist, licking his lips in anticipation. It wouldn’t take much to slake his developing bloodlust. Probably nothing more than a few sips.

There was a trail of blood running down her arm towards her elbow and he snagged her hand and brought her arm closer to his mouth. The Slayer ended up sprawled in his lap at the unexpected move, not that he noticed. His eyes were staring intently at the line of blood dribbling from her wrist.

Finally his tongue darted out and lapped at the crimson liquid. Practically purred in pleasure as it hit his tongue. He licked the blood clean from her arm then closed his mouth over the gash she’d made.

The sweetest ambrosia, it was. Made more so as it was freely given. His eyes closed, and a blissful purr erupted from his chest. His demon faded beneath his human mask.

He took only a handful of swallows – more than enough to quench his thirst and then some, afterwards running his tongue over the cut to stem the flow. For added measure, he shrugged out of his red shirt and wrapped the sleeve around her wrist.

“Damn fool stunt you just pulled, Slayer,” he grunted after a time, but the way he held her in his arms afterwards belied his blunt words.

Buffy’s eyes were closed, her head resting softly against his shoulder. She couldn’t help smiling at his disgruntled tone. “Worked didn’t it?”

“You could have been killed.”

“Not with the protection spell. But if you’d gone another day or two without feeding, it may not have.”

“I… thanks.” His words were gruff to cover his embarrassment.

“You’re welcome.” Her voice was low, barely above a whisper.

Spike coughed to cover his unease; they were treading in some dangerous waters, the two of them. Both of them behaving as anything other than mortal enemies, as Slayer and Vampire. They needed to stop. To get back to the status quo. And soon.

Before he did something he might regret.

“Come on, pet. Time for all slayers to be tucked into bed.”

_Something like that._

Spike lifted the Slayer off his lap and stood up, steering her back towards the couch. He stripped down to his jeans and stretched out on his side on the couch. His arms closed around her once she lay down in front of him.

Oh yeah. He _was_ royally buggered.

Bloody hell.

~*~*~*~*~

**_Day 9_  **

Buffy woke at dawn. She knew it was morning because the news was playing on the television with the time broadcasted on the bottom ticker. No sound could be heard, however. Spike had gotten in the habit of putting it on mute before falling asleep so that the noise wouldn’t wake her. Snuggled in his arms, she smiled softly at his thoughtfulness.

As was her morning custom, she got up, careful not to disturb the slumbering vamp, and made her way to the ladies’ room. With more than a week now passed since she’d had a proper shower, Buffy was sure she looked a fright and she determinedly ignored the mirror as she washed her hands. Which was what drew her attention to her wrist. She paused, mid scrub, staring at the faint mark she’d made.

She’d willingly cut herself for him.

And she’d trusted him to do no more than drink what he’d needed to take the edge off his hunger. He had, too. Far sooner than what she’d expected, in fact.

It hit her then.

She actually trusted him. Trusted him not to hurt her. That if they were able to get free from whatever it was keeping them locked inside and they encountered each other in the future, he wouldn’t hurt her.

Her eyes flew to the mirror, to see for herself what her mind – her heart – was already telling her. It was staring her back in the face. Eyes alight with the knowledge.

She trusted Spike, her mortal enemy. And her trust in him was not unfounded.

The weight of that knowledge slammed into her gut, and she gripped the sink to remain upright. Then another, stronger feeling tore through her body.

And she knew.

The spell had been lifted.

If she were to walk out of the bathroom right now and try the door, it would open.

Part of her wanted to do just that, flee her prison and the vampire that made her question who and what she was – and what she knew to be true about demons. But the other part, the part of her that was secure in her newfound knowledge, wanted to stay there for a while longer.

When Spike wasn’t being a pain in the ass, he was an alright companion. He’d definitely found ways to relieve her boredom the last several days. Though there were times she’d wanted nothing more than to string him up and stake him in his undusty parts until he promised to stop with his deliberate tormenting of her.

She realized now he’d invited her anger to keep her from dwelling on her mom. Which she surely would have done if given half the chance.

Spike hadn’t let her.

It was like he _knew_ her. Knew what she was feeling.

Buffy could feel tears forming in her eyes. Why? Why now? Just once couldn’t she have some normalcy in her life?

She finished washing her hands and retrieved the red shirt she’d removed from her wrist before closing herself in one of the stalls.

As she walked back towards Spike, she wondered if she should wake him, or let him sleep.

In the end, she took the coward’s route. She did leave him a brief note, explaining that the spell had been broken, but not _why_ it had. Leaving it where he would be sure to find it upon waking, she tiptoed up the steps and slipped silently from the club.

His red shirt balled in her hand. 

The three stones that had started it all, tucked away in her pocket.

After over a week spent away from the sun, it took her eyes a minute to adjust to the bright light. She stood just outside the club door, resisting every impulse that told her to turn around and go back to Spike.

She almost caved, but then thoughts of her mother intruded, and she lifted her chin and walked out of the alley.

Back to her life.

~*~*~*~*~

**_Day 10_ **

She’d stayed in that first night, claiming fatigue to her watcher as her reason for not patrolling. He’d quickly agreed and Buffy had retreated to her room.

Her dreams had been troubled that night as she lay alone in bed.

Both Giles and her mom had been at home when she’d arrived yesterday morning. Her mother had been ecstatic at her return – laughing, crying, and questioning her whereabouts all at once. Buffy had led her mother to the couch and explained briefly what had happened. 

She didn’t mention Spike other than to say that he’d been locked inside with her and that neither could harm the other. Especially with her watcher staring at her so intently.

It was bad enough Angel was in their lives. Giles would have had a full blown panic attack if she’d attempted to explain the past week and a half in any greater detail, or the reason for her suddenly being free.

He’d accepted her story readily enough, especially when she pulled the ace out of her sleeve. Yay for the return of her menstrual cycle. Not to mention her desperate need of a shower. She’d left him in the living room, furiously wiping away at his lenses, barely suppressing the urge to call out “period, period, period,” as she climbed the stairs.

Spike would have appreciated her humor.

When she’d finally emerged from the bathroom feeling more like her former self, Giles had been gone and her mother had two cups of cocoa waiting on the coffee table. They’d settled next to each other on the couch, and Buffy had told her mom about being the Slayer. Not that the elder Summers didn’t already know, Giles had informed her of his spill-age. Joyce had just wanted to hear it from her daughter’s perspective.

So, Buffy told her about everything. From the moment she’d been called until she’d returned this morning. She left nothing out – again, except for the more intimate details about Spike.

Afterwards, her mom had held her. It had been nice. Comforting.

Almost like—

_‘Don’t think about him,’_ she silently berated herself as she walked through the cemetery on the lookout for newly-risen fledglings. But it was hard. Because the blond vampire was never far from her mind.

Then he was there before her, and she could do nothing but stand there as he slowly stalked towards her. She could tell that he was mad by the way he moved. That, and the ridges and fangs that were prominent on his face. Amber eyes boring into her. Yeah, pissed might be a bit of an understatement.

Buffy didn’t flinch when Spike stopped before her, yanking her hair and baring her throat to his gaze. She trusted him; he wouldn’t hurt her. Even if he didn’t realize it yet. She heard him growl and felt his fangs hovering over her skin. A second. Two. Five.

Her heart was pounding in her chest, but she didn’t fight him.

“Why can’t I do it?” Spike finally murmured against her skin.

His lips teased her neck, and Buffy couldn’t suppress a moan. By all rights, she _should_ be fighting him off. He was a vampire, and was just seconds away from sinking his fangs into her flesh. Yet, she just stood there – well, more like leaned heavily against him.

Waiting to see what he’d do. Knowing that whatever it was, he wouldn’t hurt her.

His lips crashed down onto hers, and Buffy gasped. He took advantage of the noise, thrusting his tongue into her mouth in a show of ownership, of possession, leaving her holding on for dear life. One vague thought that came to mind before her brain shut down and her body took over was that Angel didn’t have anything on Spike when it came to kissing. Spike wasn’t afraid to let his emotions get the better of him, and she could easily feel his lust, his passion, his _need_ for her.

She moaned his name once he relinquished his hold on her lips, his mouth now off to explore other areas. Her ear. Her throat. Now fully awake, she could better appreciate his cool lips teasing the skin there.

Another gasp.

He’d bitten her. Fangs penetrating her throat ever so slowly.

She mewled and rubbed herself against him. At any other time, she would have been shocked by her behavior. But all she could think of in that moment was that he was right. A vampire’s bite _could_ be quite stimulating. At least Spike’s bite could. She doubted she’d ever perform a case study analysis.

Heck, the way he was making her feel, he could cheerfully drain her dry and she’d do nothing to stop him.

Except maybe beg him for more.

~*~*~*~*~

Her fingers probed at the marks on her neck, and she frowned up at him.

“Couldn’t bite me a little lower, huh?” she asked, her tone resigned. “Just had to do it where everyone would see.”

Spike grinned, eyes alight with mischief, and Buffy could only shake her head at his boyish antics.

“What can I say, pet? ‘m evil.”

Buffy laughed, though the sound was hollow, the light dimming from her eyes.

He may save _her_ , but he was right. Spike was evil. As evidenced by the skin still flushed from his recent kill and not because of the blood he’d taken from her.

He had to go, no matter that he wouldn’t hurt her. She couldn’t have him killing in her town. Not without being forced to do something about it.

“Yeah. You are,” she quietly agreed. “Leave, Spike. Take Drusilla and just go. _Please_.”

It was the ‘please’ that made him bite back his retort. Berating himself for a sap, he looked into her sad eyes and nodded.

“Alright, love.”

He pulled her close and the two clung to one another. Both knowing how wrong it was to do so.

What they were doing, how they were behaving, just wasn’t done.

Ever.

She was the warrior of light. The killer of his kind.

He was the prince of darkness.

Finally, Spike pulled back and looked down at the Slayer. 

“I had you first, Slayer. Never forget that.”

He kissed her lips. A goodbye kiss. Devoid of the passion, the desperation, they’d exhibited earlier, before he’d bitten her. Then he kissed the marks he’d left on her neck.

She felt that all the way to her soul.

He stepped away from her, and Buffy willed herself to remain upright, to not reach out for him and beg him to stay.

He turned away and disappeared into the night.

She knew he would take Drusilla and leave.

Because even now, he was trying to save her.

Her eyes burned from tears that refused to fall in the wake of his disappearance from her life.

“I won’t, Spike,” she whispered softly. “I won’t.”


End file.
